Aftermath
by Rainey13
Summary: After the events in Point Blank, Neal owed a few apologies and reparations. And how does Peter plan to keep him out of prison?  So many possible scenarios - this is one.


She checked to make sure the handcuffs were secure and then pushed him, gently, toward the door.

_Take him back to the office and handle the official Bureau response… Right, and just what was the appropriate response when a FBI consultant fired an illegal gun at a crooked ex-OPR agent? And when that same consultant had made like Errol Flynn and done a swashbuckling swing through a window in a museum controlled by a foreign country?_

_Yeah, they hadn't covered this scenario at Quantico._

Diana held Neal by the elbow, leading him out onto the landing. Looking down, she could see all of the museum guests still milling about in the courtyard, held in place by the museum's security guards until the exact nature of the recent events could be determined.

She paused, looking at Neal, who was still just staring silently straight ahead. And as pissed as she was with him at that moment, she knew she couldn't march him through that crowd in manacles. He was still a colleague – for the moment anyway – and deserved better.

A fire exit at the other end of the hallway caught her eye and she pulled on Neal's arm, heading him that way. He followed without question or hesitance. There was no alarm on the door on this floor so Diana just pushed the release bar to open it, and then she was shepherding Neal down the stairs.

The door on the street level turned out to be a problem though. This one had an alarm, and if she pushed the bar, their quiet departure would be anything but.

"There's a small lever behind the bar."

Diana actually jumped at the softly spoken words. "What?"

"Behind the bar," Neal said, a little louder now, though his voice still seemed to be shaky. "This type of door usually has a small lever. Flip it and you have thirty seconds to open the door without an alarm." He shrugged. "I got the feeling you wanted to leave quietly."

She nodded. "I do." Reaching behind the bar she felt along the length until her fingers found a small switch. It was in the down position and she flipped it up. It immediately reset, but hopefully…

She pushed the door open, and there was no alarm.

Taking Neal's arm again she led him around the corner to where her car was parked.

_So, was he a suspect, or a colleague? One went in the back seat, the other in front…_

Diana opened the front passenger door, using her hand to help shield Neal's head as he got in. Then she reached across him to click the seatbelt in place before walking around to the driver's side and getting in.

That's when she realized she was shaking. _Fear? Anger? Exhaustion? Relief? Maybe all of the above._

She put the key in the ignition but didn't start it yet. Instead, hands tightly gripping the wheel, she asked the question she could no longer hold in. "Neal, what the hell were you thinking?"

* * *

"Find me whoever's in charge here and get them up here."

Peter stood for a long moment, staring at the door. The security guard had gone to find the museum's curator – and from the look on the other man's face, he was more than happy to be out of this room.

_And who could blame him? The events of the last few minutes in here…_

He sighed, set his jaw, and turned back to Fowler. The former OPR agent was still standing by the window, almost looking lost. "As soon as I get things settled here, we're going back to the Bureau, and you _are_ going to give me answers."

Fowler shrugged. "You're assuming I have any."

"You're damn right I assume that!"

"Well, you might be disappointed." Fowler turned to look out the window, onto the courtyard. "You should have stayed out of it, Burke. Just let Caffrey finish me off."

"No, that's something I couldn't do."

"Why not? You sure as hell don't care about me. If…"

Peter found himself in the other man's face, though he had no conscious memory of moving. "You're right, I don't care about you except as far as you can give me answers. But I _do_ care about Neal. And all of these games you helped set up? First they took an extra four years of his life, and then they took Kate and very nearly his own life. Now they almost made him into something he's never been – a man with a gun, maybe nearly a killer."

"He's really gotten to you, hasn't he?"

"If by 'gotten to' me you're asking if he's my friend, the answer is yes. He's made some really boneheaded decisions when it comes to all things Kate, but under it all, he is a good man, and you are not going to take him down." Peter took a deep breath as well as a physical step back. "You are not pressing charges."

Fowler just shrugged. "Fine by me," he said softly. "I've got nothing left anyway."

Just then there was a knock on the door and Peter turned to find that the guard had returned with an older man in tow. "Just stay put," he said to Fowler before turning to face the curator.

* * *

"_Neal, what the hell were you thinking?"_

Neal stared straight out the window, swallowing hard, wondering how to answer that question. "Peter would say I wasn't thinking," he finally said, so softly that Diana had to lean in closer to hear him.

"I wasn't asking Peter," she pointed out. "I was asking you."

"All I can see is Kate on that plane, and the explosion…"

"But Peter told you we'd help figure out who did that – and do it the right way."

Neal just leaned back against the headrest, his eyes tightly closed. _How could he explain to anyone else what he wasn't sure he understood himself?_

"You sent someone to break into my home, Neal. Do you know how that makes me feel?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "For whatever it's worth, I am sorry."

"I wish you'd thought of that before. Neal, what if Christie had been there?"

"She was at work."

"What if she had taken a night off?"

He sat up a little straighter and opened his eyes, turning to almost face her. "She was working. I checked."

"What?"

"You can ask her – she got a call from Todd Beecham in HR."

Diana's eyes widened and she nodded. "She came home with a flower bouquet and a cash bonus – some new employee recognition program."

He nodded. "A one-time program, I guess." He finally turned all the way and looked at her. "Diana, I wouldn't have done anything to hurt you or Christie."

"Can you fix the feeling of insecurity now in our own home?"

"I can get you a security system that will keep out all but the most skilled intruder," he promised. "I'd do it myself, but I doubt they'll give me a day pass from prison for that."

Diana's tone mellowed, and she put her hand on his arm. "Peter doesn't want to send you back to prison."

"I had a gun," he said, surprised at how his voice was shaking. "I took a shot at Fowler."

"You missed."

"I wasn't aiming at him. That was a warning shot."

"So you didn't really want to kill him."

_Didn't he? After so many months of trying to find answers…_ "I just wanted to know the truth."

"We all do, Neal," she said softly. "There's just a better way."

He just nodded and closed his eyes again.

The next thing he knew he felt Diana release the catch on the seat belt, and then she was pushing him forward. Her hands touched his, and he felt the cuffs being released…

"You shouldn't do that."

"You already said you wouldn't hurt me," Diana pointed out. "Running would hurt me."

"I'm not running."

"I know." She reached down and started the car. "We'll figure this out, Neal. Now put your seatbelt back on."

He obeyed without even really thinking about it, and she pulled the car away from the curb.

* * *

Peter pushed Fowler ahead of him into the bullpen area, guiding him toward the stairs at the back. Fortunately, the ex-OPR agent didn't seem inclined to put up much of a fight.

It was fortunate as well that it was a Sunday – except for Jones and Diana, the office was empty.

_Empty…_

Peter looked around. Neal's desk was unoccupied, the conference room was empty, as was his own office. "Where is he?" he demanded.

Jones nodded toward the hallway. "Restroom."

"No one went with him?"

"He's not running, Peter," Diana said.

"You'd better hope…" His voice trailed off as movement in the hallway caught his attention.

Neal came into the office area, wiping his hands with a paper towel. There was a momentary hitch in his step when he looked up and saw Peter, but then he kept walking.

"Upstairs," Peter said simply.

Neal nodded, pausing to drop the towel into a trash can and then following Peter toward the steps.

Fowler was already waiting at the top and Peter pointed at a table in his office. "Sit there and wait," he ordered. Then he turned to Neal. "You, in there," he said, pointing at the conference room.

Neal nodded and walked into the room, dropping heavily into a chair. He leaned his elbows on the table, resting his head in his hands.

"Do you have any idea how badly you fucked up today?"

Neal winced slightly at the expletive – _so unlike Peter._ Then he nodded. "I think I have some idea."

"Some idea…" Peter shook his head and paced toward the window. "All this time, Neal – all this time, trying to keep you out of prison. Trying to make you see that you can really make a difference. And then this!" He turned back to face the younger man. "Is that what you want, to go back to prison?"

"No." Neal's voice was barely a whisper. "But I understand if that's what happens."

Peter walked over to the table, bracing his hands on the surface as he leaned in close. "Believe it or not, I still don't want to see you wasted like that. And I do understand the danger you'd be in inside after working for us." He took a deep breath before continuing. "Fowler won't be pressing charges, and we can deal with you slipping the tracker. What about whoever you got the gun from? Did you steal it?"

"Yes, but he's a friend of Mozzie's. We can work it out."

"So that just leaves the museum. They weren't exactly happy with the way their show was interrupted. However…" He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an art print, laying it on the table. "Recognize this?"

Neal looked at the photo and nodded. "Kandinsky."

"Right. _Winter Landscape_. It seems that the Hermitage has an excellent copy in their collection – but they'd like the original back. There's reason to believe you can help with that."

Neal didn't say anything, just stared at the photo.

"Dammit, Neal! Do you have it or not?"

"Yes."

"Then you'll return it."

"That may take a little time."

"Neal…"

"Are you going to let me go to Prague?"

Peter shook his head emphatically. "That would be no."

Neal sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Then I need a little time to find someone to get it. Preferably someone who'll return it, and not just sell it."

"And you're telling me the truth?"

Neal looked up, meeting the agent's eyes. "Yes, the truth. I know where the original is. I just need to work out how to get it."

Peter kept their eyes locked for a long moment before finally nodding. "All right, we'll come back to that. Now, I'm going to talk to Fowler. If you think you can keep your temper in check, you can come with me."

Neal added a nod of his own. "I can do that."

"All right, come on."

* * *

_Fowler didn't kill Kate…_

So many thoughts ran through his mind, but that one was first and foremost.

He built a pattern out of the bullets, thinking. Fowler wasn't the one, he couldn't identify the one… the one who had done the deed… the one who had given the orders…

Frustration overtook him, and he lashed out, sweeping the bullets onto the floor. He shouldn't have bullets here anyway. Bullets belonged in guns, and guns…

Guns caused nothing but trouble.

Hands cradling his head, he took a shaky breath. _He'd let Fowler get to him, let his own unwavering love for Kate make him an easy target…_

_He'd almost let Fowler make him into a killer, the last thing he'd ever wanted to be. He'd let the ex-agent manipulate him into decisions that, by all rights, should have him on his way back to prison._

_That might still send him back to prison if he couldn't get the Kandinsky._

_Of course, in prison, everyone else would be safe from the havoc, the absolute shambles, that he had turned his life into. And that might be best for all concerned…_

* * *

The cold water felt good against his skin and he stayed bent over the sink for several minutes, long after the traces of tear-stained charcoal and gun powder had been erased. Finally, the icy water began to sting and he turned the faucet off, reaching for a towel.

He was just walking back out into the main room when the knock sounded on the door.

_What else could possibly happen today?_


End file.
